A fine day but definitely everything is different than home.
I left Derrell to fend for himself and headed down to the lobby to call the airport about my lost bag. They informed me they did have it.
From there it was a taxi to the airport. I hailed a taxi, not really a difficulty in Cairo. This consists of just standing on the street looking at your feet and every empty taxi swings by with a beep and motions you to get in. I wonder what would happen if I actually raised a hand and looked intent? Upon entry to the cab, I discover that the word ‘airport’ was not in the driver’s vocabulary. So, with lessons learned from yesterday I motioned to a guy walking down the sidewalk and he translated the destination for me. I can’t remember the word at this moment, although he helpfully repeated it several times and had me repeat it a few times. With destination in hand, we were off. Flowing down the highway, it was a silent trip and the roads were not too crowded, about 20 minutes in all. Once at the airport, we had the choice of terminal 1 (international) or 2 (domestic). Well, considering I came in from London, I chose ‘1′. What a silly choice. About 30 minutes later we were still driving around the airport, stopping at every police barrier, showing my baggage claim ticket on British Airways paper and with much conversation between the driver and the person were pointed in the correct direction. These conversations were universally punctuated with a ‘Welcome.’ and a nod to me to complete the conversation. Finally, someone was able to tell us that it was the domestic terminal that we needed. In the meantime, I saw the back alleys of the airport, about 14 police barricades that we drove through, and one 1 foot deep trough of water that crossed a busy road that we crossed very, very slowly and carefully. It is at this time that I discover that every taxi to the airport gets charged 5 pounds on exit. My driver tried to talk his way out of it, since we were at the wrong terminal but failed. He finally dropped me at arrivals at the correct terminal.
Hmm, now where to go, since my view of the airport was last from Arrivals. Over to the information desk to a lady with a large ledger in front of her, downstairs to another desk with two people with large ledgers, and into the EAS office with many people with even larger ledgers. I gave up my passport and lost baggage claim, and was then motioned to sit. 20 minutes later, a gentlemen of utmost helpfulness was there to escort the only two of us currently in the office not in front of a ledger. Upstairs we go. He left us, 20 minutes pass, he returned and left again, 10 minutes pass. Then it was through passport control with him handling two sets of two papers, passports, and the lost baggage forms, and downstairs through a backroom to the den of lost luggage. This time there were two men, one most obviously more important than the other because he had the larger ledger. There was an animated discussion with our helpful escort. We pointed to our luggage, signed one ledger, another discussion ensued, then got a long line recorded by the scribe. We then saw our luggage loaded onto the conveyor belt and turned to leave. Alas, the lesser scribe would have no part in that. We must sign his smaller ledger, too.
Now it is time for baksheesh. A small tipping protocol to get your passport back in your hand and to award the fine helpfulness of your escort. It is at this time that I find out the man with me is from Saudi Arabia and doesn’t have Egyptian pounds on him yet, but he definitely understands the concept of baksheesh. He left our escort with 5 USD thus paying my tip for me and our passports were returned to us. You wonder at these moments if you will see your luggage again, though.
Upstairs we go through the dingy hall and I see my beloved bag. Now I just need to clear customs. I warily eye the folks with the absolutely largest suitcases in the world standing at the customs table with every last ounce of belongings being removed from the bags and sorted out. They are taking this in stride and the piles are becoming huge. I step up to the table with a resignation that only two hours at an airport viewing every stairwell, back alley and ledger can gain you. But I am in luck, I am a foriegn woman, and one who had the initial opening of the bag fling my dirty clothes bag which wasn’t tied shut across the counter and therefore subsequently flung my one pair of underwear and one pair of socks across to the other inspectors table. Mayhem ensued and they motioned to me to retrieve the items and get them back into my bag. Everyone was jabbering at this point with great glee, the inspectors and all the men getting their bags inspected, and I still a bit red in the face… was on my way.
Back out to take a taxi. This time the driver spoke English and the traffic was bad. But overall, it was a fascinating discussion of wages, tourism, weather, sights we passed, our ages (he was 50 and single) and of course, religion. But I must add that I had one last ledger to sign as a passenger in the taxi at the police stop on the way out of the airport. It was a mid-size ledger, if you are curious and he was a Coptic Christian.
By the time I returned to Derrell and the hotel, I had a full day of smog, crazy driving, and Arab taxi music.
Our evening was filled with a belly dancing nightclub show that is very difficult to describe. The show started at 11 PM and was still going strong at 3:30 AM. Medina was dancing, if you could call it that. The place was filled with large groups of very smartly dressed, upperclass Egyptian women out for an evening on the town, and with Arab business men most of who had that businessman sleezy night out look about them. The food was good, the opening band was singing Arab techno and greatest Amr Diab hits, the belly dancing was not what we expected, and the star of the show wandering through the audience for special photos had the women in the audience swarming over each other and her. What a crazy world.
